


Parasitic Soul Fucking

by TasteTheRainbow



Category: Teen Wolf (TV) RPF
Genre: Again with the RPS, It's all blowjobs and weed, M/M, Porn without anything resembling plot, Rae needs to stop writing real people having fictional sex, seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-18
Updated: 2012-08-18
Packaged: 2017-11-12 09:45:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/489507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TasteTheRainbow/pseuds/TasteTheRainbow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Posey gets <s>stoned</s> centered, Colton finds himself in an uncomfortable position.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Parasitic Soul Fucking

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was originally conceived as _the one where Posey is stoned out of his mind and babbling about shit that turns Colton on until, in the end, someone gets a dick in the face._ Since i couldn't convince Travis to write it for me, I caved to the pressure of writing RPS in another fandom and did it myself.

It's just a regular weeknight, nothing special or outstanding about it. There's a bunch of people hanging out in the living room, lying around while they play video games and listen to music and shoot the shit. There's a stupid amount of pizza and diet soda on the kitchen and coffee tables. It reminds Colton of a Thursday night in a frat house, with better furniture and less stench.

With a pat to Holland's knee, he stands from the couch and wanders through the dining room, sliding the glass door open to step into the salty fresh air on the deck. He knows exactly what he's going to find here and Tyler doesn't disappoint.

He disappeared fifteen minutes ago and is now sprawled at the bottom of the deck stairs, one foot tapping against the ground as he drums an easy rhythm on his stomach with one hand and puffs from the joint in the other. 

“Hey, anti-social,” Colton greets with a smile, lowering himself to the bottom step. He leans forward, rests his elbows on his knees and clasps his hands between them, nudging Tyler's shoulder with one toe. “You gonna hang out by yourself all night, Posey?”

“Nah, man,” Tyler answers with a bright smile, tilting his head back to laugh before he shrugs and says, “I mean, I don't know. Maybe.”

Colton chuckles and shakes his head. “You got your hands on the good stuff, huh?”

“Shit, yeah.” Laughing again, Tyler relaxes back into the grass and takes another hit. He holds the smoke for what seems like far too long, but everything Colton knows about smoking up comes from watching other people do it, so what does he really know? “I'm a motherfucking television star, man. All I get is the good shit now.”

“Better watch out, man. Your ego's showing.” That only happens when Tyler is on something. It should probably bother Colton more than it does, but somehow it strikes him as more endearing. 

Shifting his hips, Tyler drags his hand along the wide swath of bare skin between his board shorts and his tee, now riding up over his ribs. “So's my happy trail,” he answers, stroking the dark hairs below his navel. “I can feel the wind on it.” 

When he laughs again, his eyes drift shut and he's, quite possibly, the most beautiful thing Colton has ever seen. That doesn't really seem like the thing to say, though. Not right now. Maybe not ever.

“Feels so good, though,” Tyler adds, stroking his fingers over his skin as he lifts his joint to his lips again. “I think I'm just gonna leave it out.”

Coughing back the sudden spike of something that shoots through his belly, Colton grips his hands tighter together and says, “That sounds like a killer plan, man. I hear it's what all the motherfucking television stars are doing these days.”

“Damn skippy.” 

Colton watches as Tyler drums his fingers against his stomach again, alternating between rubbing his fingers over his happy trail and patting a rhythm to whatever song is in his head at the moment. He hums a little, mouthing words that may or may not already exist.

Suddenly, he rolls onto his belly and says, “You know what we need, man? We need music.”

“There's music inside.”

“No, no, no,” Tyler says, shaking his head as he sits and leans against the bottom step, his shoulder resting heavily against Colton's thigh. “I mean real music. Like the kind that just buries itself in your soul and builds a fucking love nest with your emotions and makes love to them and just, ya know, like lives inside you in this really real way. We need that real thing, dude.”

Colton blinks as the words turn over inside his mind. This happens at least once every time he tries to have a conversation with Tyler when he's smoking. He starts to wonder if the words actually mean something, if the kid is seeing something that he hasn't in the world around them. 

“So you want a parasitic love song, is that what you're telling me? You need a parasite to fuck your soul in order to feel alive?”

Tyler's eyes go wide. He hands his joint to Colton and fumbles around in his pocket for his phone. Hitting a few buttons, he holds the phone to his mouth and says, “Parasitic soul fucking,” into it. After a beat, he says, “Give Colton writing credit for his fucking genius word choice.”

“Oh, you don't have to do that.” _Please don't attach my name to this idiotic idea_ is what he wants to say, but saying anything remotely mean to Tyler when he's so excited about something is just impossible.

“No, dude, really. That is a fucking masterful collection of words.”

“Jesus, you're so stoned.”

Tyler nods. “Feels so good, though.” He leans his head back, shirt stretching tight across his chest as he stretches his arms over his head. “Like getting your dick sucked by a guy who knows exactly what he's doing, ya know?”

He rolls his head to look longingly at the joint in Colton's hand but doesn't move to take it. He just moans and, dammit, now Colton is thinking about Tyler and blowjobs and happy trails. He's a good person. There is no reason for this kind of punishment.

“How would you know what that feels like?” he asks, hoping to fuck that he sounds more amused than defensive. 

Tyler's eyes drift shut. “I don't. I just imagine it sometimes.”

“I bet,” Colton says with a derisive snort. 

There's no reason to think that Tyler is being sarcastic or trying, in any way, to rile Colton up. Sometimes he just remembers what other co-stars on other sets have done or said and it's easy to project.

“I do. Like just the right dude with the perfect mouth.” His eyes pop open, focused obviously on Colton's mouth. “Down on his knees, just sucking the hell outta my dick.” With an involuntary grunt, he says, “Fuck, man.”

Handing the joint back, Colton takes a deep breath and says, “And I think that's my cue.”

“To suck my dick?” Tyler asks with the most sincere look on his face. “'Cause of course but, I mean, you don't have to.”

“Posey, we can't-.” 

That's not what Colton means at all. He would never. It's just, why bring anything awkward into this situation that's been so great for him until now? This isn't the kind of thing that Tyler would even think about if he were up in the house with the others right now. Separation is what they need. A little space to break whatever weed-spell that's been cast. 

Undeterred, Tyler looks up at him with the widest, innocent eyes. His thumb darts out, ghosts over Colton's lower lip. “Dude, your mouth is awesome.”

Colton grips Tyler's wrist. He can't do this. He can't take this. He's not entirely sure they can survive the aftermath if he gives in to the thrumming in his chest, the heat in his belly, tonight.

“You have no idea how much I think about this,” Tyler says.

He's leaning in, Tyler is. Closer and closer until Colton can smell the sweet smoke on his breath, the sweat on his skin. Colton's hands feel like they're trembling where they're clenching his jeans in tight fists. 

“Let me go get you somethin' to drink, okay?” he says, cursing the way his voice breaks.

Tyler's hand slips around Colton's neck. “Don't be scared, Colton. It's okay.”

Fucking. Hell. He's so goddamn sincere, so genuine and good-hearted about this. It's all staring back at Colton in those doe eyes. None of those past experiences ever looked like this. Dammit. 

“The human body is amazing, man,” Tyler goes on when Colton doesn't stop him. His nose grazes Colton's jaw. “The myriad of ways we can bring ourselves and other people such intense, insane pleasure? I mean,” he lifts his face just enough to bite playfully at the corner of Colton's jaw, causing Colton to jump in his seat, “a simple bite can short all your circuits, ya know?” 

This can't happen. It cannot happen. Anyone could walk out here and see them. Even if they couldn't, it's a bad idea. 

“Couple more,” Tyler continues, licking the shell of Colton's ear as his fingers deftly work Colton's belt buckle with far too much coordination, “and your whole mind is blown wide open, dude. It's, like, fucking magic.”

If he hadn't just used the word _myriad_ , Colton would almost think that Tyler's been sober this whole time. 

When the blunt fingernails scratch his skin low, dangerously low and just beneath Colton's underwear, he jumps again. “Posey, we gotta stop this, man.”

Tyler just hums into his the skin of Colton's neck. “Why?”

“Because,” Colton begins to explain and then it's there, Tyler's fingers against his dick and his mouth against Colton's throat. “Shit,” he hisses because, well, he wants this. More than he has even admitted to himself, he wants it.

But he can't have it. They can't have it. This is bad for the show and it's bad for their friendship and, if Colton has learned anything, it's just bad, bad, bad all around.

“You are so damn uptight sometimes,” Tyler accuses, pulling back to secure one hand under Colton's chin and pull his attention. “You need to chill out.”

He's not wrong, but. Well. 

Holding his hand up to offer the tiny remaining end of the blunt, Tyler asks, “You wanna?”

Colton's first instinct is to take it, but he's not really adept at acting on his first instinct. That's never gone all that well, to be honest. He shakes his head and turns his face to catch a breath that isn't drenched with Tyler.

“Dude, I say this as your friend, okay? You are so goddamn pretty, but you are so fucking intense. You need to fucking let it go sometimes.”

“You think I'm too intense?”

Tyler just laughs. “Dude, I think everyone is too intense.”

“That's because you're _centered_ all the time.” That's what he likes to call it these days, centered. Like it's fooling anyone.

“But I'm happy,” Tyler tells him, leaning his elbows back on the step behind him and arching his back forward with a long, distracting groan.

Colton nods because, well, you can't disagree with the fact that Tyler is happy. Happy and full of life and, fuck, beautiful.

The silence hangs heavy and awkward between them. Well, it's awkward for Colton. He's fairly certain Tyler doesn't have an embarrassment gene so nothing ever feels awkward to him.

Finally, Tyler takes another deep breath and rolls his head again, his chin resting on Colton's shoulder. “So, you want me to blow you instead?”

Colton fights not to choke on his own tongue. “You are not going to let this go, are you?” _Please, please don't let this go._ Fuck this internal conflict.

“Not until you do,” Tyler answers with a wink at his own double-entendre. “I've got some manners, dude.” His hand slips into Colton's lap, gently massaging the hard-on Colton's been trying to ignore for the last ten minutes.

Who is Colton kidding? He was never going to say no anyway. 

He does have a few reservations, though. “Should we maybe go somewhere else?” he asks as Tyler slips over Colton's leg to position himself between Colton's knees.

Looking up, Tyler smiles softly, reassuringly, and says, “Colton, man, relax.”

Easier said than done. As soon as Tyler begins to unzip Colton's shorts, Colton asks, “What are you doing?”

Playfully, Tyler looks up and says, “You want a play by play?” He pulls on the waistband of Colton's underwear. “I'm getting your dick out of your shorts.”

“Smart ass,” Colton reacts, nudging Tyler's shoulder with his knee.

“Wait, is that a smile?”

“I smile.”

“Yeah, you do,” Tyler agrees, eyes lingering on Colton's before they drop to his own hands, watching with what can only be described as delight as he pulls Colton's dick into the open air. “Dude.”

There are certain times when a guy, or a girl, should never just stop and make a vague comment that is open to any interpretation. When holding a guy's cock, that's one of those times. 

“What?” he asks, flush heating his chest and neck.

Tyler licks his lips and continues to stare. “You have the most beautiful cock I've ever seen. It's like fucking art.”

Oh, Jesus. “Posey?” He looks up with this awestruck face that is, frankly, a little uncomfortable. “Just. Stop talking, okay?”

Dragging a slow fist down the length of Colton's dick, Tyler catches his tongue between his teeth and nods. “I can definitely do that.”

Didn't Tyler say that he didn't know anything about having his dick sucked by another guy? Wouldn't that also imply that he doesn't know anything about sucking one? Except, Colton supposes, having one of his own would lead any guy to kind of know what to do with one. His brain is rambling but, honestly, Colton is afraid losing the inner dialogue is going to make him shoot off in about three seconds.

Tyler's grip is firm and perfect. He spends a little too long staring at the slip of Colton's dick between his fingers, casually stroking it harder until Colton is sure he's going to pass out or explode in an embarrassing fashion. His toes actually curl against his flip-flops when Tyler squeezes just under the head and then dips his head to taste the head with the tip of his tongue.

“Hey,” Tyler says suddenly, eyes narrowed and focused on Colton's face when Colton lifts his head. “Relax.” 

Colton will never be able to hear that word again without thinking of this moment.

He tries. Fuck it, he really does try to relax, but everything Tyler does is new and interesting and shocking, sending constant sparks through his thighs and belly, heating him up until he's sure he's going to combust right here on Hoechlin's deck. Won't that make a pretty headline for TMZ tomorrow?

Finally, Tyler leans in, one hand on the base of Colton's dick and the other on the inside of his thigh. He seals his mouth over the head and then pops it back out of his mouth again, chuckling a little at the way Colton moans. If he wasn't carefully petting the tender skin on the inside of Colton's thigh and looking exactly like he does when he gets a new video game or hears a new song that he loves, Colton might feel a little self-conscious.

Instead, he lays back against the steps and tells himself that it's okay to let Tyler play. It's okay to let him roll the head of Colton's dick over his lips and then pop it into his mouth and back out again. It's okay to let him lathe the underside with his tongue, up and down and back and forth as though he's testing Colton's reactions. Colton has plenty of reactions, though most of them are pretty incoherent.

When Tyler rises to his knees, hand skillfully working Colton's dick while he starts licking and sucking at his balls, Colton's back arches and he groans a little louder than he probably should, immediately sticking the side of his hand into his mouth to shut himself up. But dammit, it feels amazing.

“Easy, man,” Tyler reminds him, holding Colton's eyes while he runs his tongue around the head of his cock one more time. “I gotcha. It's all good. Let it go.” And then he smiles and it's like Colton forgets why in the hell he was ever worried about this in the first place. Surely he'll remember later, but for now, none of it fucking matters because that mouth is about to, holy shit.

Tyler strokes his fingers over Colton's balls as he envelopes as much of his cock as he can in one swallow. There's no way this is his first time. Thank fuck it's not his first time. 

Colton's core feels like jelly, his limbs falling slack against his will. Oh, who is he kidding? His will isn't fighting this shit anymore. He manages to rest a hand on Tyler's shoulder, but that's as far as he even attempts to control himself as the slick, slurping sounds of Tyler's mouth on Colton's dick take over any and all thoughts that Colton might have had.

It's obscene and awesome and beautiful and, fuck, maybe this is how Tyler feels when he's high as a kite and waxing philosophical about parasitic soul fucking. Colton's heart is hammering hard against his ribs, blood rushing hard and loud in his ears, body drawn tight and still completely at ease. It's the greatest paradox and he doesn't have two fucks to give to analyzing it right now because Tyler's teasing one dry finger below Colton's balls.

“Fuck,” he grits through clenched teeth, fighting the inevitability of the end just a little while longer. “Shit, Posey, fuck.”

Encouraged by the sound, Tyler pulls off and strokes his fingers over the wet length of Colton's dick before switching hands and sucking him down again. This time, he circles Colton's asshole with one finger, slick with his own spit from Colton's dick, and Colton throws his head back hard against the wooden steps. 

He may have a concussion, but he doesn't fucking care. He certainly doesn't care anymore when Tyler pulls back and gives Colton's cock a hard stroke and then another and says, “Come on, man. Let it fucking go. Give it to me.”

It's enough. Colton's body goes rigid against the stairs, his balls aching with it as he prepares himself to come as hard as Tyler wants him to, harder than he has in a long time. The sound he makes is a little embarrassing, but he doubts any guy really makes musical melodies when he's coming his brains out all over his friend's fingers while said friend whispers filthy encouragement into the space between them.

“Fuckin' hell, man,” Colton finally says when he can catch a breath again. 

Tyler presses a kiss to Colton's hip bone before tucking him back into his shorts. “Come on, man,” he says, hopping to his feet with more energy than Colton can imagine having at the moment. “Let's jump in the water before we head back inside.”

Jump in the water? Is he serious? 

Nodding toward his own lap, Tyler clarifies. “I just fucking came in my pants like a fourteen-year-old. I gotta get wet before I go back inside.”

“You came in your pants?”

“Yes, I came in my pants.” He holds his arms out and thrusts his hips forward, a little too close to Colton's face still. “Do you wanna check or are you gonna come in the water with me?”

Colton can't resist raising an eyebrow. “Dude, I just came on the steps. I don't think I can do it again in the water.”

For a split second, Tyler does not look amused but then he smiles again, another one of those mega-watt, soul-blinding smiles that give Colton's dick another interested, if weak and noncommittal, twitch. “I should blow you more often.”

“Yeah, you should,” Colton says as he pushes himself up off the stares with a grunt. His legs still feel a little rubbery, but he can live with that. “I'll return the favor next time,” he says as they begin walking toward the ocean.

Slinging an arm over Colton's shoulder, Tyler says, “Now that's what I'm talkin' about.”

Holland's going to kill him when she finds out, but Colton's been fighting this thing he has for Tyler for too long now. Something had to give and if this is all it is for right, just a little mutual relaxation during a regular, old week night? Maybe Colton is just fine with that.


End file.
